


In the Darkness

by kitestringer



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien, Oz (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-12
Updated: 2005-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitestringer/pseuds/kitestringer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebadow and Busmalis find what's buried inside the walls of Oz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> The "Explicit" rating is for violence only.
> 
> As always, thanks to [](http://maverick4oz.livejournal.com/profile)[**maverick4oz**](http://maverick4oz.livejournal.com/) and [](http://rustler.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rustler.livejournal.com/)**rustler** for comments, suggestions, and encouragement.
> 
> Originally posted in February of 2005, for Hardtime 100 Flashfiction Challenge #12: X Marks the Spot.

It was on a gray day much like any other in Oswald State Correctional Facility that Bob Rebadow and Agememnon Busmalis surreptitiously excused themselves from the Emerald City common area and wandered down into the old storage room, as they often did during dull afternoons when no one felt like playing cards and nothing on TV held their interest.

"It's funny you like coming down here so much," Busmalis said, as the door clicked shut behind them. "It's almost like you _want_ to remember..."

Rebadow pulled the drop cloth halfway off the old electric chair and trailed his fingers across wood even more aged and worn than his own skin. "It was one of the times I felt most alive." He turned to give Busmalis a brief, rueful smile. "If that makes any sense."

"Not really, Bob. But what do I know?" He shivered but took a step closer. "Say — did it hurt much?"

"Hurt? No, not exactly." Rebadow lowered himself into the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, feeling no particular need to say anything more on the subject.

"I don't know how you can sit in that thing. Just looking at it gives me the willies." With that, Busmalis straightened his hat on his head and gave in to a strangely intense desire to move as far away from that chair as the confines of the room would allow.

Rebadow had his own, deeply personal reasons for wanting to visit this particular storage room again and again. For Busmalis, on the other hand, the reasons were far more practical. In addition to simply enjoying his friend's company, he had, through careful assessment of the prison's layout, discovered that the room was located at the very eastern edge of the entire complex. In combination with the fact that almost no one, prisoner or guard, ever bothered to come there for any purpose, this led The Mole to wonder how he had ever managed to overlook it. He could hardly wish for a more perfect location to begin his next project.

Starting in the southeast corner, where nothing more than a few dusty boxes stood in his way, Busmalis began a close inspection of the floor, searching for weaknesses to exploit.

"You know, you could help me out here, Bob."

"What can I possibly do? You're the expert."

"Just take a look around. See if you can find any loose tiles or cracks in the floor or anything."

Rebadow sighed and pushed himself out of the chair. He pulled a couple of mattresses far enough from the wall to expose a bit of floor and began to probe with his foot. With the condition of his back being what it was, it was about all the help he had to offer. He kicked first at one tile, then another. With his third halfhearted kick, his foot slipped and hit the wall, and he felt something give.

"Find anything?" Busmalis stood up, brushing the dust from his sleeves.

"Don't know..." With effort, Rebadow crouched as low as he could and felt around the wall with his fingers. It looked as if a piece had been cut away, then replaced and painted over. Flakes of paint broke free and fell to the floor as he worked his fingers inside the cracks.

"Well lookee there!" Busmalis was close behind him, peering over his shoulder. "Want me to give it a try?"

"I think I've got it." Once the paint around it had been loosened, the small section of wall was easy to pull out. Beyond it was a dark little space, no taller or wider than a man's hand. Rebadow peered inside. "There's something in there."

"Really?" Busmalis breathed. "Neat!"

Rebadow reached inside and pulled out a small brown envelope fastened with a bit of red wax. Judging from the shape and the heft of it, there was something solid and heavy inside. He cracked the wax seal and shook the contents out onto his hand.

It was a ring. Gold, gleaming, and flawless; the untold number of years that had passed since it had been hidden away within the walls of the prison hadn't touched it at all. As he gazed upon the ring, feeling its pleasing weight in his palm and letting his eyes savor its symmetry, Rebadow felt he'd never seen anything so perfect in design.

"_A ring._" Busmalis whispered, leaning closer, so close that Rebadow could feel his breath against his face. Rebadow was seized with an unexpected sense of irritation verging on anger; his jaw clenched and his fingers twitched, as if preparing for the possibility of violence.

"Let me see it," Busmalis said, no longer whispering.

"Why?"

"It's just so...beautiful. You know?" He reached out, took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Rebadow's hand.

"No." Rebadow closed his fist around the ring and shuffled a few steps away into the corner, where, hunched over with his back to Busmalis, he opened his hand and allowed himself to once again admire his treasure.

"Come on, Bob. I let you borrow my _TV Guide_ yesterday. And...hey! My birthday's coming up, remember?"

But Rebadow was hardly listening. When he sensed that Busmalis was again close enough to peer over his shoulder, he reached out and shoved him away. The idiotic expression on Busmalis's face made him want to laugh out loud.

"Bob! What's the matter with you? Just let me have a look." Busmalis's voice was full of the false geniality so typical of him. Rebadow could see the true intent in his eyes, sparkling with malice.

"Stay away from me."

"You're acting crazy. Now let me have that ring." Busmalis took hold of him by the shirt and pushed him against the wall.

"Why should you have it? I found it!"

"You wouldn't have found it if it wasn't for me! And you owe me from our poker game yesterday!"

"I owe you _five measly dollars_ from our poker game."

Busmalis opened his mouth as if to answer, but no words came. Rebadow watched as his face transformed, twisted into that of a stranger, utterly unrecognizable to him. A terrible sound came from Busmalis's mouth, the likes of which neither of them had heard before, and then Rebadow found his fist being clutched painfully in both of his friend's hands. When his fingers wouldn't submit to his attempts to pry them open, Busmalis thrust his knee into Rebadow's groin, and he crumpled to the floor. He lay gasping for air as Busmalis pinned his arm with one knee and renewed his efforts to open his fist.

"I just...want...to see it!"

The ring throbbed like a living thing within Rebadow's clenched fist. _I'll never let him take something so precious away from me,_ he thought. Aiming for the part of Busmalis closest to his mouth, he sank his teeth as deeply as he could into the meat of his thigh, just above the knee that was pinning his arm.

Busmalis cried out and fell away from him without releasing his hand. When Rebadow tried to struggle to his feet, Busmalis pulled him back to the floor and bit hard into his fist. The pain was blinding, but Rebadow was no more willing to relinquish the treasure in his hand than he would his own life. Blood ran warm between his fingers as he used his free hand to grasp as much of Busmalis's hair as he could and pulled, pulled, kept pulling until it ripped away from his scalp with a sound like cloth being torn in two.

To Busmalis, this bright hot pain was hardly more than a nuisance — an obstacle to negotiate rather than a force that could defeat him. He had never been much good with pain of any kind, but his old, cowardly soul was being dismantled and replaced piece by piece as he fought with new purpose and strength. The ring in Rebadow's hand belonged on his own finger. If he could complete the simple task of putting it there, everything else would line up and fall beautifully into place. And so he bit down all the harder, coughing and sputtering blood, until Rebadow's finger gave way with a _snap_ and there it was, his ring, sticky with gore but still shining prettily in the dim light.

There was a sound — Rebadow's voice, a strangled scream, and Busmalis could hear it but it seemed to be coming from somewhere deep in the ground, at the far end of a long tunnel. He held the ring up to the light and was overcome with a fierce kind of joy.

"So precious," he whispered.

He could just barely perceive a strange, stinging sensation; when he looked down, he saw Bob Rebadow, lying in a growing pool of blood, gnawing feebly at his ankle. It was then that he understood Bob would never give up, would never stop trying to steal what belonged to him. Giving in to a sudden and profound urge, Busmalis put the ring on his finger; it slipped on as easily as if it had been made just for him. Rebadow now looked more confused than anything else; his eyes still squinted up toward him but seemed unable to focus. Maybe he was dying already.

"You should have died 40 years ago, Bob," Busmalis said, as he lowered his foot to Rebadow's throat. "A jury of your peers wanted it that way. So I think this is justice, you know?" Rebadow seemed to agree, because he hardly struggled at all as his windpipe collapsed beneath Busmalis's canvas sneaker.

In a diminishing corner of Agamemnon Busmalis's mind, there was a long shriek of sorrow, but it was drowned out and lost entirely in a vast and growing darkness. Now two guards were in the room with them, bending over Rebadow and feeling for a pulse, but they couldn't see Busmalis, standing stone still in the corner, stroking the ring on his finger and waiting for everyone to leave. He, himself, wouldn't be leaving by the same door through which he'd come. The ring was already growing heavy, drawing his hand toward the the floor, showing him the way of their escape. There was no room left in his heart for anything other than the need to follow.


End file.
